


Too Soon

by Lumiel_lightbringer



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Panic, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-10 17:31:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20531861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lumiel_lightbringer/pseuds/Lumiel_lightbringer
Summary: A rooftop suicide that may or may not be as it seems leads to Sherlock having a painful flashback to his own jump.





	Too Soon

  
~

"Lestrade called." John's voice is registered immediately in the bored detective's mind.

"Finally!" He groans, throwing his hands up above his shoulders, palms out then covered by tense fingers once more.

"What did he say?" It comes out more as an order, than anything, but, by now, John knows that it is one.

"He's got a case for us. Six miles out of town. About a 3, but Lestrade says it's more interesting in person, whatever that means."

"Great. Let's go."

He grabs his coat and is out the door, calling a cab before John can even begin the details.

"A man, late 20s, apparently commits suicide in the middle of a farm. He was found by his husband in the morning... Then when an ambulance came, his body was gone. Husband was in the barn with emergency services the entire time."

"And you said this was a 3." Sherlock mutters, pushing the door open and hopping out before the cab even begins to slow down.

John, surprised at his sudden interest, quickly follows him - of course, once at a stop.

"Sherlock? Sherlock!" John races up beside him to take in the crime scene.

The yellowed grass is tinted a dark crimson, a large dent where the body must have been, and taped off with loud, neon tape.

A thin puddle of red is looped around the circular lowered grass, where the head must have been.

John frowns at it, obviously dead by head injury, meaning it was most likely death by trauma - a jump-er.

He peers up at the barn standing behind the taped off non-body.

The barn is in good shape, not new by any means, but sturdy enough to hold the man. The roof appears strong as well, with wooden beams and pillars dotting the inside of the stables. The odd part would be the gaping hole on the far left.

Lestrade stands beside the barn, talking to who was most likely the widower and a woman - maybe a friend or cousin?

John opens his mouth to speak, turning to his left but being cut-off by the shock of Sherlock's suddenly bright white skin.

He blinks a few times, taking a step back and gaping at the sight.

It takes the doctor less than a minute to realise his friend was panicking. Badly.

"Hey, hey, Sherlock-" He begins, gently wrapping an arm around his friend's torso, "Breathe. Breathe." He orders, rubbing his back in a slow up-and-down motion.

"Come on, work with me here." He mumbles, putting a hand under his nose after noticing that Sherlock was rigid.

"Shit, Sherlock!" He shouts. His friend is obviously not dead (The thought burns him even now), nor unconscious or in cardiac arrest, so why he has chosen to stop breathing is yet another mystery.

"What's going on?" Lestrade asks, walking up to them with concerned eyes.

"Well he's having a panic attack and suddenly decides to just up and stop breathing." John says, rather matter-of-fact.

Greg's eyes widen and he turns, shouting out, "Alright, I need a paramedic over here! He's not breathing!"

Luckily, the paramedics that came for the dead man stayed, and one doctor rushes over with an oxygen tank and a plastic mask attached to it.

John gets Sherlock at least into a sitting position, though how easily it was to manhandle him concerns the doctor to no end.

The mask is placed over his mouth and nose, the supporting strap looped around his head to hold it in place.

"That's it, that's it..." John murmurs, holding his friend's hand with his right hand, the left still busy trying to calm him down through a less-frantic back rub.

"Only you..." He mutters, peering up at his friend's pale face, "Only you would have a terror attack and stop breathing!"

Greg shakes his head, though a small smirk plays at his lips, "He is a drama-queen, isn't he?"

"Extremely." John grins for a second, but it's gone as soon as it appeared.

His worry for Sherlock overpowers any other emotion working away through his system.

After a solid 5 minutes of sitting and waiting, comforting and praising, Sherlock's eyes finally regain some life to them.

His skin remains as pasty as it was when he first refused oxygen into his lungs, but his blue eyes refocus on the side of the barn he was so intently staring at before.

"Jesus-" He gasps out, looking around to see John and Greg - Donovan obviously recording the scene on her phone while snickering by the barn - surrounding him.

"What are- John what are you doing?" He exclaims, already back to himself. "Why am I on the ground?" He asks, standing up and suddenly aware of the oxygen mask on his face. He rips it off and tosses it beside John.

"Get up, get up!" He shouts, gesturing wildly, his eyes filled with that uncharacteristic fear once more.

This time, John is positive what is causing the panic.

"Lestrade, I think your team needs some leadership, right about now," The doctor says, giving him a look that he understands in an instant. 

The DI turns and shouts a few colourful curses at Donovan, and, with the paramedic also gone ("I'm an army doctor, dammit! I think I can deal with my friend having a panic attack, you bloke!"), they are once again alone.

"Calm down, Sherlock." John states, rather bluntly.

"Calm down?_ Calm down_?" He exclaims, looking both shocked and offended. "I am calm!"

He turns to see Donovan's camera-phone back on him, and glares at her before Greg grabs it from her hands and Sherlock turns back to John. 

Said doctor is giving him a 'is that so?' look, earning a muttered response of: "Maybe I'm not calm," before he shouts, "So what? I can still solve the case. _Calm_? I'm_ never calm_! What even _is_ being _calm_! 'Calm', _'calm'_, what a _stupid_ word! And a stupid state of being, too!"

John's eyes soften as his friend spirals deeper, "Relax," He tries, reaching out and grabbing his bicep gently, "You're okay."

"I'm not okay, John, I'm never okay!" He whispers as a tear suddenly slips from his eyes.

"Okay, how about this," He says, reaching down and grabbing the oxygen mask, noting Sherlock's breathing picking up to what could escalate into hyperventilation if not careful, "You keep this on, and we can go for a little walk away from all this," He gestures vaguely with an opened palm at the blood-stained grass.

It takes a few minutes to get a solid response. Sherlock's lips quiver and he bites them to stop the movement, but it fails. He turns back and fourth between the barn, the grass, John, and the mask.

"_Fine_." He finally hisses out, snatching the mask from his hands and holding it to his mouth.

John reaches out to help him pull the green strap over, only to get a growl from the younger. "Okay, okay." He surrenders, holding both hands up beside his head for a minute before going and lifting up the oxygen tank.

"Let's go over here, yeah?" He nods towards the cow pasture - luckily vacant of any actual cows - and they begin the slow walk over.

Sherlock seems to trudge more than step forward. John doesn't mention it, slowing his own pace to make it seem like he's actually moving faster than the doctor.

"There we go." He grunts, placing down the tank beside the fence before looking up at him.

"I need you to calm down, okay?" He tries, reaching out, tentatively, with both hands to grab his shoulders.

"I can't, John, I _can't_!" Sherlock all but whines. "It is too soon for this and you didn't tell me he jumped if you _told me_ I wouldn't've _came here_ because it is _too soon_, John, _it's too soon_!" He rambles on, beginning to breathe too quickly before dropping the mask completely, looking around wildly. "_It's too much_!" He cries, louder than he had hoped, earning the attention of one Lestrade.

John gives him a wave to stop him from walking over before turning back to Sherlock. "'Too soon'? What do you mean, 'too soon', Sherlock?"

This only causes him to fall further, choking on the little amounts of air he manages to get into his lungs.

"Too soon, John, it's been 2 years and I still can't- I can't- it's- it's too much!"

John slowly takes in a deep breath before relaxing his entire body and looking down for a minute. When he looks back up, he pulls Sherlock into a tight embrace.

"Jesus Christ, Sherlock..." He mutters, "I'm the one supposed to get freaked out by seeing that, not you! You're the one that tricked me!" He exclaims, realising quickly that he himself isn't freaking out over it.

"But- But I- I- it was so _loud_, John and so _high_ and I- I-"

John cuts him off, "_Survived_, Sherlock, you _survived_ it! You fooled me and probably took 10 years off my life," This gets a choked sob from Sherlock, and John quickly rubs his back, "But you survived, got it? Yeah?" 

He pulls away and looks him in the eyes, "You're alive, I'm alive, and we're both safe. Yeah?"

"But I-" He tries again, tears cascading down his cheeks like a boiling waterfall, leaving red trails on his skin and his eyes bloodshot.

"Nope, not gonna hear it." John says, interrupting him again, shaking his head.

"I almost-"

"No."

"I could have-"

"Uh uh."

"But, _John_-"

"But, _Sherlock_, you're fine!" He exclaims, eyebrows raised and his head tilted down so he gave give him that 'shut up and listen to me' look he learned from Mary.

"You are fine and I am fine and everyone's fine!" He shouts, smiling at him in honesty as a tear escapes his own eyes.

"Look at me, Sherlock." He grabs Sherlock by the back of his neck, holding him in place and also getting them to lock eyes - well, as much eye contact as he could get from the Autistic man. "It was all a trick. You told me that yourself. No one got hurt. You did your job, dismantled Moriarty's web, and now you're home, and we're on a case. You and me. On a case. Just like old times, yeah?"

Sherlock manages a weak nod.

"You scared me half to death, yeah-" Just that word earns a hiccup and panicked expression, but John saves it, "-but we're both alive! We're both alive, and you're going to figure out this case, and I'm going to stop making bad choices in words and sayings and we're both going to go home, and drink tea and I'll write another blog entry and you'll go off to experiment on pig ears or cow eyes or whatever other offending organ or body part you decide to attack. Everything's ok. Every_one's_ ok. You can calm down, now. You're home. You're safe."

A few beats pass in silence before Sherlock hiccups and whispers, "Thank you."

This time, the detective embraces John, and they don't pull away for many minutes.

Even when they hear Sally shout something about Sherlock being John's_ 'real' _lover, and taking a few pictures, they don't let go.

When Sherlock calms down enough that his breathing returns to normal - without the oxygen mask and everything! - and his body has stopped shaking, minus the few hiccups that escape his throat, they let go of one another.

"So." John says, his voice quiet, as if too much noise would send Sherlock spiraling again - though, knowing him, it might - "Shall we?"

"Oh, no need." Sherlock waves a hand dismissively, "I've already figured it out."

"Really?" John asked, surprised that he managed to do all that and have a mental breakdown.

"Yes. The neighbour got rid of the body after murdering the man, throwing him off the roof to make it seem like a suicide - and before you ask, 'why, it already looked like a real suicide!' it was because they made an error and,"

He turns and points at the barn, "broke a hole in the barn's roof. Alone, the man could have never caused the roof to fail, him being 45 kilos, but adding the over 70 of the neighbour, and judging by the bruises on her right side - and hay on the ground near the door, which covered the floor of the barn - she is the main suspect." 

He turns and points at the body-shaped denting in the grass, "A considerable amount of force is needed to cause grass to stay down without any pressure on it, and the body had to have been moved within the 15 to 30 minutes it took for the paramedics to arrive. And looking at the distance between the edge of the roof and the feet of the victim, he must have been pushed and not jumped, since jumping would cause them to land furth... further..." 

He blinks a few tears and John rubs his back, a physical reminder of 'You're fine. I'm fine.' 

He sniffs and looks back up, "Not to mention the fact that you can't move blood, which would have drenched the floorboards and hay in the barn after he hit his head and died, and there was no blood there." He finishes with a deep exhale and turns to John,

"Let's go home. You were right, this was a 3."

With that, the detective heads off to most likely try and steal a ride from Lestrade.

John smiles and follows after. 

Sherlock _is_ back.


End file.
